I will not write of this tale
in beautiful words
because it is not a beautiful story

If it were visual art
it would be painted only in black
and white

black for the streams
of ebony tears
the contrast
of mascara scars
on porcelain cheeks
black for my grief
mourning the death
of my benevolent perception

red for the fragments
of a heart that shatters
red for the blood
spilling from its fractures
red for the anger
for his cowardice
red for the love he shared
with her
in secret

white for the snowfall
the night
he did not return
for the pale fear
in my face
mirroring snowdrifts
white for a canvas
I erased clean
white for this paper
I fill with absolution
white for my renewal

and this poem
lacking beauty
will be the last thing dedicated
to the man who has dedicated
nothing to me


About savannahlyn

I write to articulate what my tongue cannot
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